Body Bag
by Sunshinecackle
Summary: Firkle's bullies didn't know when to quit, but at least they were smart enough not to mess with his attack dog.


**Title:** Body Bag  
 **Author:** Daisy  
 **Fandom:** South Park  
 **Setting:** South Park, Colorado  
 **Pairing:** Kevin McCormick/Firkle  
 **Characters:** Kevin McCormick, Firkle, OC: Francine, OC: Nathan, OC: Jay, OC: Ross, OC: Fletcher  
 **Genre:** Romance/Hurt/Comfort  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters:** 1/1  
 **Word Count:** 2512  
 **Type of Work:** One-Shot  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Warnings:** Bullying, Gore, Blood, Established Relationship, Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Language, Unbeta'd  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
 **Summary:** Firkle's bullies didn't know when to quit, but at least they were smart enough not to mess with his attack dog.

 **AN:** Hey everyone! Just for a quick note, Francine is my headcanon for Firkle's twin sister. Nathan is her husband/boyfriend/mate, and Jay, Ross and FLetcher are football boys that like to beat on Firkle. ouo Just so you guys know.

Anyway, I've been wanting to write this since I first got into this ship on Friday, and it's finally happening. 8D I hope you guys enjoy!

 **Body Bag** ****

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Firkle was possibly one of the most odd kids left in South Park.

The only goth left, as the rest had all run off to college and left him behind. Skype calls were a necessity, and they were oddly empathetic to his time there. Michael had been teased, Pete had been the victim of some semblance of violence, and Henrietta had been bullied on and offline. But Firkle, he was small and fragile and otherwise unable to defend himself all alone. Their strength had come from their group, and without it, he was powerless to stop himself from getting into trouble he couldn't crawl out of.

Walking to school, considering he couldn't legally drive until he was at least twenty-one, the eighteen year old had been jumped by a group of jocks that didn't feel like waiting for him to show up. This was what he got for not getting a ride with Nathan and Francine, he supposed, even as the first blow connected to the back of his head before he could fight it. Knocked to the snowy cement by the rock now damp with his blood, he gasped, throat burning at the pain.

The boot to the middle of his shoulderblades had been expected, somehow, and he jerked back. Not strong enough to dislodge the football player at his back, he was shoved down, feeling the ache in his joints as he was smooshed into the sidewalk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here…?" Jay questioned, chuckling a little, "A little kitten, finally without his stupid guard dog."

"Shut it, asshole." Firkle croaked, eyes narrowing at the ground. All he had to do was get to the knife in his boot before these dickwads got to him, and he'd be golden. He was too good with it for them to get to him; and apparently they knew, because the second that he reached for it, a strong hand gripped his thin wrist and yanked it back, hard.

"Uh, uh, uh. I don't think so. Cats are so much better without their claws." Jay beckoned one of his little cohorts over to grab the knife out of the boot. As soon as it was in his hand, he threw it down the alley to their right and smirked. "Whatcha gonna do, now, kitten? Scream? I think I might like that too much."

The boot on his back moved up, pressing against the back of his neck, and Firkle gagged a little from the feeling of his neck being ground into the cold pavement. Seemingly, this brought the other male joy, because he pressed down harder before suddenly stumbling off of the little goth.

Firkle's eyes peeled open, though he didn't know exactly when they'd closed, to see a nearly fuming Kevin with another rock in his palm.

"What are you doing here, shitstain? I thought I told you to leave him the fuck alone." There was a kind of threat hanging in those words that scared off two of the remaining jocks, who booked it for the other side of the road and continued on to school. Jay, Fletcher, and Ross stuck around, even if the latter two looked uncertain.

"It's not like he's your property!" Jay shouted back, green eyes narrowed, "You can't always save him."

"He doesn't always have to." Firkle croaked, shakily getting to his knees and crawling towards his savior. It was smarter to get out of the range of the fight before it started, considering his head was pounding and he felt a little woozy. As much as he wanted to go after his knife, he figured he should wait until the world stopped turning so damn fast.

"He's _mine_ , because he chooses to be. And you," Kevin pointed at him, a glare in his brown eyes, "Shouldn't mess with what's mine. You're lucky I'm not gonna kill you on public property, asshole. You better run while you can." The second he would have his hands around this kid's throat was the second that he might not stop. Heavy boots crunched the snow beneath them as they carried him forward, and a solid punch landed straight on Jay's nose. It had all happened so fast the jock had had no time to block, instead stumbling back and holding his face.

"What the fuck?!" He cried, his friends managing to catch him before he had a chance to fall.

"There's more where that came from. Go on, runt, I dare you." Kevin held his arms out, a sort of 'come on' gesture with both hands punctuating his words, "Hit me and see where it fucking goes."

Fletcher and Ross shared a short look before offering hasty apologies for their own retreats. They knew better than to fuck with a McCormick. Their reputations were all pretty well woven, and the thought that Kenny could be called to help dampened their urge to pound the 'faggy goth kid' into the dirt.

"Pussies! The lot of you!" Jay shouted, spitting blood onto the cement and squaring up. It looked, for a second, like he was going to try and fight, until they heard a voice shouting 'what are you kids doing?' With that, knowing he was caught and unable to do much about it, the teen finally turned tail and ran. His first stop would probably be the school nurse.

With the threat disbanded and his mind clearing from the rage-fueled haze, the brunet finally turned on his smaller lover.

"We have _got_ to stop meeting like this." Firkle managed, shaking his head slightly and finding that to be the wrong course of action. Slumping back into the snow, he sighed, jumping when he felt a warm hand on his back.

"Let me see." Kevin offered. He might not have been the smartest guy in South Park, but he could tell a fatal injury from a small one, at least. Pressing his fingers into the small gash and goose egg forming on the back of the other's head, he tutted a little, "Do they even care if they kill you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if that was their aim." The goth replied, slowly forcing himself to sit up, ass on his ankles.

"I'll call you in, you're coming home with me." The elder sighed, "Stay here and call me if there's any trouble."

Ducking down the alleyway, his eyes turned sharp and he hunted down the knife, knowing Firkle's particular attachment to his 'boot knife'. It took a few minutes, but he finally resurfaced on the street with it in his pocket, and the second he reached the noiret, he was hefting him into his arms.

"Hey, fucktard, I can wa-"

"Shut up. I'm carrying you and if you fight it, I'll drop you. Got it?" The tone of his voice showed some level of caring lover, but mostly it sounded like a threat he'd go along with. That was the only reason Firkle stayed put, curling up against the elder's chest.

"Fine." He acquiesced finally, kissing the other's neck and feeling proud, at least, that he'd left a pretty purple mark.

The walk to Kevin's apartment was short-lived and altogether fairly pleasant. The other talked about his favorite movies and what he wanted to see if they had the extra cash, and it did enough to keep him awake with the constant questioning of if he liked this, wanted that, did this, would he want to go see this or do that later. The eldest McCormick knew better than to let someone sleep off a head injury. It could be dangerous.

Letting them into the apartment was harder than he'd thought with his arms this full, but he managed to fish his keys out and hand them off. Firkle fumbled a few times with them, but managed not to drop them and let them in after only five minutes. Still, the elder was proud and kicked the door shut behind them, Firkle reaching around back to lock it behind them.

Carrying him to the bathroom, Kevin looked over the other's wound again, how it had bled into his hair and made it damp at the nape, and he sighed again. Those fuckers were going to go home in bodybags some day, and he'd happily take the credit for it. He knew Firkle would visit him in jail, at least.

"Baby? Hey, hey, look at me." He coaxed, one finger under the other's chin, "I'm gonna clean you up, and then we'll go lay down for a bit, okay? I think you got knocked up pretty good, but…" His eyes dropped to the rough scratches under his chin, "I don't think it's a concussion." He really couldn't be sure, but with any luck Firkle just needed a nap and some Tylenol.

"Mhm, okay." The smaller mumbled, eyes falling shut again. They sprang open the second he felt the sting of hydrogen peroxide on his neck, his Adam's Apple jumping the second it contacted. "Fuck, _ow_. Be more gentle you damn oaf."

Well, at least he was okay enough to sass him. That was a good sign. So good that he just grinned like a little shit and laughed softly.

"Whatever, Rocky Balboa." Kevin couldn't help the amusement in his tone, and Firkle just rolled his eyes at it, letting the other clean up the spots of blood in the front. "I think you're gonna have one nasty goose egg by the time it's done, but the cut is pretty small. Head wounds are always more mess than fuss." His mother had used to say that to him, when he'd hit his head on things. It was odd how it really did apply, somehow.

"That's good, at least. I don't need any help getting beat up."

A stern frown crossed Kevin's lips, his eyebrows drawing in, and he sighed again. Firkle's parents still hadn't learned to be kind to him, and it made him so mad. He always let the other come over when things got too bad, but that was starting to become more and more often.

Maybe they knew he had a better place to be.

"I'll be right back." The elder said, leaving the room a tad reluctantly, going to dig for something in the bedside table. His house was sparsely furnished, but he'd managed to get this, at least.

Firkle spent his time on the bathroom counter looking at his makeup and the red patches beneath his chin. Well, at least it looked kind of pretty. All he needed was a black eye and his look would be complete. Absently fiddling with the chain connecting his wallet to his pants, he looked up in surprise when a flat hand presented itself to him, a key laying on it.

"...What's this?" He questioned, taking it and palming the warm, gold-plated metal.

"Your key. To the apartment." Looking slightly bashful, he quickly added, "In case you have to come over and I'm asleep or at work."

Kevin's cheeks held a soft rose to them as he returned to standing in front of the goth, taking his rag in hand once more and squirting some more peroxide on it.

"Alright, babe, head down." He muttered, helping the goth to lean forward and press the crown of his head into his chest. He wanted to gloss over that whole idea that Firkle could come and stay, emotions were not something he wanted to talk about right now. Neither were affections. No, he needed to get him cleaned up. The initial touch of the cloth had the smaller gripping the front of his gray work shirt, and he smiled a little as the blood seeped from the wound a little when he accidentally scraped off the barely-formed scab. Firkle was going to have one _Hell_ of a headache later. "How are you holding up, buttercup?" The rhyme couldn't be helped, even if that was usually a pet name that pissed the smaller off.

"It's… It hurts. But I think I'm alive, for now."

"Pity." Kevin snorted, "I could have buried you under the bed."

"I would have stank something horrible."

"Only like roses and decay, which I've had to live through before."

"...Right." Sometimes Firkle remembered Kevin's upbringing hadn't been typical, either. Other times, he was surprised by the amount of nonchalant apathy that he held for it, "Anyway, uh… How bad is it, doc?"

"It'll bleed, and it'll hurt for a while… But it's nothing some rest and a good fuck can't fix." Kevin was back to grinning as he pulled back, holding the other at arm's reach. "What do you say to a nap?"

"I say fucking take me, dude. I'm gonna fall asleep here and I'll brain myself on the tub and die."

A yelp left Firkle as he was hefted again, this time able to wrap his legs around Kevin's waist, and the two made the venture into the bedroom, the bathroom light flipped off as an afterthought. Laying the other down on his mattress, possibly the most expensive thing he owned, the elder crawled up over him and kissed his cheek.

"Night, baby." He whispered, only to get arms around his neck, tugging him down to lay half on top of the smaller form.

"You're napping with me. I don't want to be alone." It was a rare thing for him to admit something like that, so the brunet sighed a bit and shook his head.

"Alright, alright. Scoot over." He smiled even as he sighed, getting them under the covers and snuggling up close. "Ready, now?" Spooned up against the younger, he didn't even realize he'd already fallen asleep until he realized the little goth looked like he was dead. It was common for him to breathe and move so little he didn't look real, or to move so much he'd booted Kevin right out of bed on several occasions. This morning seemed to be a 'sleep like the dead' kind of morning.

The last time Kevin remembered looking at the clock, it was 8:15. Upon the next blink, it was four in the afternoon, and he blinked, looking down to find his arms empty.

"Firkle?" Voice sleep-rough and tone worried, he sat up in an instant, only calming when he heard the sink in the bathroom. Seconds later, Firkle came out, having shed his clothes in favor of one of Kevin's way-too-big gray t-shirts.

"Calm your tits, Captain Concernicus. I was getting some Tylenol. My head is fucking killing me. I want Chinese and some Gatorade; blue flavor, because it's the only one worth even thinking about."

Well, Firkle was definitely feeling better if he was commanding him around like that.

"Got it. Moo Goo Gai Pan, right?" The relief washing over him was enough to make the elder compliant enough to just let himself be bossed around, at least to a point. Needless to say, the goth was pampered, on the couch in a blanket and watching TV by the time his food arrived.

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 **AN:** Honestly, these two have gotten my attention so bad I can't even. I don't know what to do, but write. xD Get them some more content out there. Hope to see you in the next one!


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